Bring Me a Dream
by impossigirl
Summary: The TARDIS telepathic circuits are malfunctioning, leaving Clara and the Doctor's memories at the disposal of a certain Dreamlord.
1. Prologue

"Isn't it time for bed, Clara? You look absolutely exhausted."

"Thanks for that," she replied sarcastically. The Doctor mindlessly tinkered away at the console, feeling the unrelenting stare of Clara resting on the back of his head. She swung her legs against the cool leather of the chair, taking in the change in the Doctor's usually laid-back stature.

"I'll go to bed when you tell me what's wrong."  
The Doctor dug his face further into a row of levers and buttons as a precaution of shielding the emotions on his face to the companion behind him. He pulled out his sonic to repair the levers before him, trying to take his mind on thoughts that threatened to eat away at him.

"Nothing's wrong," he lied as he lifted a few wires protruding from the ground only to promptly place them back down, "the Tardis is just acting up. Anyway, we've already landed at your flat. 21st of August."  
"It was a July 4th a day ago," Clara laughed, and her usual infectious happiness had the opposite effect on the Doctor.

The Doctor turned around and mustered a crooked half smile moments later, nodding his head towards the doorway. "July... Yeah, sorry. July can wait until morning. I'll get the TARDIS up and ready after you've had your sleep."

The despair in his voice did not translate into Clara's ears, who simply grinned. "You deserve sleep too, yeah? I mean you've been going at the console all day."

The Doctor's face fell and he promptly turned to lean on the console. "Yeah, I'll be off to bed soon. Goodnight." He managed to say the last phrase with considerable effort; he waited until he heard Clara's footsteps fade from the TARDIS before he slid to the ground and clutched his ears.

"Please old girl," he cried as he leaned his head against the metal of the console. "Tell me what's wrong!" The Tardis screamed in his mind, wheezing and making such a commotion through their psychic link the Doctor was momentarily blinded by the pain it gave him. He hunched over, his machine still screaming as he lost consciousness.

===  
When Clara noticed the glow from the Tardis seep underneath her door, she turned her head to her alarm clock wearily.  
"Two hours? Why would he only give me two hours to sleep?"

She reached for the light and jumped out of bed. She began speed-walking toward the other room in irritation before stopping in her tracks. She was exhausted, could she have fallen asleep without hearing the Tardis wheeze itself out of her flat? She always waited for that noise when he dropped her off. Who would want to miss that?

Her heart lept into her throat and she ran toward the Tardis.

Once inside, she saw a silhouette slumped against a dead console.

"Doctor," Clara rushed up to The Doctor and rattled his shoulders. He opened his eyes weakly. "Hey Clara," he gave a disoriented wave as Clara looked down at him. A bundle of Tardis wires was gripped between his fingers.

"Goodmorning?" He questioned as he tried to fake stretch before abandoning that strategy and instead wincing in pain.

"No." She replied sternly. "The TARDIS didn't dematerialize from my flat. And judging by the bruise on your head you didn't just decide to spontaneously nap in the control room."

He waved his hand dismissively and sat himself up. "I have very odd sleeping habits Clara," he offered.

Clara leaned closer to him, if only to get a better view of his bruised cheek that he tries to hide with a sweaty hand. "If you don't tell me what's wrong, I swear I'll hit the self-destruct button that's right above my elbow."

Dropping his hand from his face, he twisted his fingers around each other in his fidgety demeanor that he plays off as deep thought.

"Nightmares," his voice was shaky and didn't sound like his own. She opens her mouth to retort, but his cold eyes makes her stop in her tracks.

"Doctor -"

With a series of pained groans, the Doctor pulls himself up from the floor. "The Tardis was having nightmares."

He gives a icy laugh and throws his hands up in resignation. "No use in hitting the self-destruct button, either. She's already dead, or will be very soon."

"Then why - why were you tearing out her wires?"

"I must have been doing it instinctively." He tilts his head so she can see his right ear, blood drying out the side of it. "She was screaming."

Clara's eyes widen in concern, if only for a moment.

"Wait a minute," she points a finger at him. "You knew something was up when you ushered me off to bed. You could feel it, then. Why not say something?"

"I made you leave before the telepathic link you share with the TARDIS started to turn on you as well."

"How exactly does a time machine have nightmares, Doctor?"

He scratched his head. "Don't know. The other night, after we had visited the Aristotle, the Tardis kept ringing it's cloister bell any time I moved near the console. Emergency control modules kept popping up the closer I got to her. She was afraid. But then it was like it never happened, as if she woke up again and realized there was nothing there."

"Afraid of you?"

The Doctor nodded and turned to face a row of buttons, trying to get his machine to respond.  
Clara rested a hand on the Doctor's shoulder and stared at him with big brown eyes.

"What if it wasn't a nightmare?"

The Doctor rolled his shoulders, uncomfortable to Clara's touch. "What are you trying to say?"

"Doctor, I don't think a nightmare would have killed the TARDIS."

"Why would the Tardis be so afraid of me?"

Clara pursed her lips. "That might be an answer we need to find out."

The Doctor's eyes darkened as he pressed his palms against the edge of the console. "Possibly," he grumbled.

He tapped his impossibly long fingers on the time rotor, looking for life.

"Nightmares," he breathed almost to himself. His eyes start to light up. "Nightmares, nightmares, nightmares."

Clara leaned in toward the console and gave the Doctor a quizzical look. "Hmm?"

"Why are you here?" The Doctor questioned his companion.

"What?" Clara asked sharply, almost offended.

"Answer," he continued, now turning a heel toward Clara. "You never left the TARDIS".

"Again, what?"

"I didn't make it out of your flat last night. You're still here. Within this proximity you would have felt it, too. The screaming."

Clara's face twisted in confusion as the Doctor examined her closely. "I didn't feel a thing. Would I have felt it? I expect you share a stronger telepathic link with the Tardis than I do. Still not sure she really likes me."

"Those screams," his voice trailed off, for a moment. "Surprised all of time and space didn't hear it. You would have felt _something._"

"You said I never made it out of the TARD-"

The Doctor interjects by hushing his companion. "Forget that. One second."  
He dashed out to a corridor, emerging a couple minutes later with a pair of silver canisters.

He tossed one to Clara and gave her a reassuring smile. "Forgot about these," he beamed as he spins his canister around in his hands.

Clara examined the bottle. "These look like deodorant cans."

"Do you trust me?" The Doctor asked, nearly out of nowhere.

"Trust you to look after my antipersperant needs?"

Clara put both hands on the canister, brushing her finger on an etching on the bottom. She turned it upside down, an inscription scratched hastily on the bottom.  
"Doctor," she breathed still looking at the canister. "What's nitro-9?"

The Doctor stepped beside her now, his hand resting on the top of his cannister. "An explosive. Which I all too conveniently found. Because this is a dream. And we need a way out of it."

"Doctor," Clara looked toward the TARDIS door, thinking of what to do. She started shaking, her voice doing the same. "Doctor, you're injured. Y-you're not thinking right."

"I'm sorry," he said. "But you really have to trust me."


	2. 2 - Clara

Clara first feels the cold against her spine, as it travels up her body and to her shoulders. She opens her eyes, her eyelashes brushing against the steel encased around the TARDIS floor.

"Doctor?"  
Her voice is raspy and dry, her muscles stiff as if she's been there for hours. No response.

She slowly pushes herself up to assess control room, eyeing the monitor for any signs of flight or location. They're blank, as if the TARDIS itself is just shell. A few weary punches to the buttons confirm her suspicions. She vaguely remembers a flash of fire as she reached her hands towards the Doctor. Her ears should be ringing. _Why should they be ringing? _But sound is noticeably absent from anything and her memory is hazy.

She stares at the spot she found herself, her eyes widening to the disturbances in the metal floor. She bends down to inspect closer, scrapes and scuffs encompassing the ground all the way to the door. Its perched open ever so slightly.

"Please tell me you're okay," she whispers as she hugs her ribs in fear.

She fixes her eyes to the door for a few minutes, before dusting herself off in an act to gain her composure. Chalk flies off her palms and onto her dress, and her attention snaps to the Doctor's chalkboards. No clues, no message that the Doctor just popped out for sugar. She's fighting the urge to start shaking. All she can do is repeat his name.

She gazes at the walkway near the door, knowing she'll have to cross the threshold soon. She notices a white inscription etched violently on the side and races to it.

"Be Brave."

Clara stares at the scuffs on the floor again, heel marks matching that of a boot. The Doctor must have put up a fight. In the juxtaposition of the marks on the floor, it looks like he shielded her. From what, Clara didn't know. Judging by the struggle, she almost doesn't want to know. And above all else, why can't she remember?

She closes her eyes and runs out the door.

Pure white walls and a quiet room greet Clara.

She feels like she's in an empty canvas, aside from an odd looking lift on the other side of the room. The call buttons glow odd colors and she almost catches herself smiling at the novelty of it all.

"A red waterfall, and a green anchor?"  
She hears the clinging of a stirring spoon hitting against a teacup, almost as in response to her question.

"Odd isn't it?"

She swings around and sees the Doctor sitting at a table behind the TARDIS, almost as if the room grew bigger and he suddenly appeared. She cries in relief.

"You had me so worried!" She shouts as she marches up to the table and pulls herself a chair.

"Yeah, sorry. Not my intention."

The Doctor takes a sip from a mug of tea, and keeps stirring absentmindedly.

"Doctor, what are we doing here, and why did you leave me alone like that?"

The question is fallen on deaf ears as he keeps stirring, staring at the white walls.

"Doctor?"

"Yeah, sorry, not my intention."

She jams her hands in her pockets in frustration and kicks her feet up. "Yeah, I got that thanks. Seriously, though!" She feels objects scrape her knuckle and pulls them out of her pocket. "Doctor?"

She looks down at what she's pulled, a shiny little thing and a stick of chalk. She quickly glances at the Doctor's hands, still stirring his tea. A ring, his ring, is positioned on his fingers. The same exact ring that's resting on her palm.

"Not my intention. Yeah sorry."

She turns her attention to his shoes, neatly polished and devoid of marks, no sign of the struggle in the TARDIS. Her eyes widen.

He stops stirring. "Odd isn't it?"

Clara flies from her chair and takes a couple steps back. "Doctor." she pauses slightly, the Doctor pale and weary, but undeniably himself in the flesh. "Look at me."

He stares at the call buttons on the lift. "Intention," he says in the same monotonous rhythm he's been gibbering.

"Doctor!" She slams her hands on the table, begging for a reaction. The room starts to tremble, the lights flickering from up above. Clara yelps in fear, only exacerbating the tremors and falls to the ground. Using the table as a support, she pulls herself up.

"Oh dear, I can't watch."  
A man now sits across from the Doctor, a cane in his hand. Strapped in tweed and a bowtie. The Doctor's insignia pre-Trenzalore.

"I know you'll both be dead soon anyway, but it's just so dull when the heroine has no hope. No plot. No... finesse."

Clara stares at the man, stunned. "Dead?"

The man nods at the Doctor. "He's in shock, if you haven't noticed by the mini earthquakes and the blabbering idiot in front of you. He's very...Madame Tussaud's at the moment if you ask me."

Clara takes a seat next to the man. "Earthquakes?"

"Oh?" The man laughs. "You don't get it yet, do you?" He nods towards the Doctor. "Feel his pulse."

"Why?" She crosses her arms.

"Stop asking questions. The old man's on borrowed time. Feel his pulse."

She presses her finger's against the Doctor's neck. She feels nothing. No pulse, no clammy skin, no warmth nor cold."

"I'm dreamin'" She states, almost in a relief.

"He's dreaming. Dying in his sleep. You just got pulled along for the ride, sorry about that. I was just going to kill you after he rebooted."

"Reboo-"

"Please miss Oswald, the questions are too much."

She stamps a foot on the ground and scoots her chair closer to the short man in front of her.  
"Rebooted?" She repeats herself in a stern manner. The tremors in the room are less pronounced.

The man sighs and waves his arm towards himself, as if bowing to applause. "Dreamlord."  
He waves a finger to the Doctor. "Dying timelord."

"Or a trick," Clara nods, mostly to reassure herself. Her fist is white from gripping the Doctor's emerald ring. She quietly slips it onto her finger. "Where is the Doctor The _proper_ Doctor?"

The Dreamlord smirked and waved his hand, as if shooing the Doctor who sat in front of him away. The Doctor, whatever he was, disappeared to the Dreamlord's command. "He does like to choose the clever ones. Not as clever as the ginger bird he spent his time with, but I digress."

He continues to dodge Clara's question, as if returning back to a story he's never actually started. "He knows me, almost killed me. I was so powerful, creating worlds for him and his silly little companions to play in. I only barely survived, as a speck in his subconscious."

The lights start to drain, and darkness begins to fill the room around the table.

"Lightning storm in the Lambda-9 Galaxy affected the TARDIS circuitry, the part of the needy little machine that has a soft telepathic link to you and the timelord. The bits that translate your tele-novellas into the Queen's English without a second thought."

Clara crosses her arms, the Dreamlord gives her a grin. "Go on," she pressures.

"Think of your mind like a computer. You have a breach in the security, and a virus can take control of your whole machinery. Have lightning, and you can also overload the circuitry and knock a timelord out cold as he pilots the TARDIS. Perfect time to harvest the living mind of the timelord and take over all the physical bits."

"And You're the Virus. Or Mr. Sandman. Think your proper scary, then?"

The Dreamlord laughs and grabs Clara's hands. She instinctively pulls away, but it's useless. "You're definitely not the computer in the metaphor Miss Clara. You're more of a primitive cassette player. A floppy disk stuck in a giant web of information. And you've been stuck here for quite sometime."

She grits her teeth.

"The lightning jumbled you all up in my breach through the TARDIS telepathic pathways. And here you are, your feeble consciousness getting suffocated by the Doctor's literal mind. And I've had quite alot of time to sort through it."

Clara shivers involuntarily at the thought, much to the satisfaction of the Dreamlord. She steadies herself. "You're being awfully helpful," she offers, trying her hand at nonchalance.

He waves his hands around the barely-lit room. "Just being nice to a dying woman, is all. Call it charity. In reality, you're both dying on the floor of his grubby little time machine. But somehow I think something will kill you in here, first. The Doctor is quite a dangerous man. Imagine what he's capable of when his mind's privy to my parlor tricks."

Clara snaps her head toward the lift, instinctively thinking up an exit strategy. She turns back and she's alone in her chair, no table, no TARDIS, no lords of time or dreams alike to be seen.

"Right." she says to no one. "Green anchor or red waterfall?"

* * *

**Author's Note: **Sorry for the tense change between chapters. I got bored with past tense, apparently. Thanks for reading!


	3. Chapter 3

The Doctor sits cross-legged, his long fingers wrapped neatly onto the cell bars that entrap him.

"Stormcage, really? Is this the best I can think of?"

The Dreamlord leans his back onto the other side of the bars and buffs his nails on his tweed jacket. "Be gracious that I'm actually quite a nice prison guard. I've brought some entertainment."

He snaps his fingers and a projection of Clara wandering around is transmitted against the walls.

The Dreamlord turns to his prisoner. "I think she's in for a big sleep. I don't imagine this companion of yours has the guts to kill herself back to reality. Not when she thinks she's in your mind."

The Doctor scratches his head, his hair caked with blood. "What is the point of you doing this? You're derived from big ol' outerspace pollen, you couldn't actually take over, physically."

"No, but that lightning means I'm in for some long-term fun. I planted fear in her head. She's going to fight to survive."

The Doctor nodded. "The TARDIS telepathic circuits connected us together. What's stopping me from waltzing out of here to get her?"

The Doctor's counterpart taps absentmindedly on the bars. "I'd assume in your current state that you'd have a bit of a headache."

The Doctor nods and pulls his arms into a stretch, noting the scrapes and bruises on his hands. "So you work well with pain and fear. It helps you control the dream and keeps us separate. Why here? Why stormcage?"

The Dreamlord stays silent and the Doctor jumps up. "Oh, I'm daft. Stupid, stupid me." He smiles and leans closer to the Dreamlord. "You're weak! We are in my brain, not strictly speaking, but you've only got my greatest hits to pull from."

The Dreamlord remains unimpressed. "All that anger and darkness in your new regeneration, it's like you've been planning for my birthday. I'd hardly call myself weak."

"But you are!" The Doctor replies, half shouting and half laughing. "You're stuck in the tweed and the ever obnoxious face, because you're just a residual speck of annoyance in the damaged time rotor. I may not be able to control this dream, but what's stopping me from blocking you out?"

The bricks in which the façade of Stormcage is built on start to flicker in and out of existence.

The Dreamlord smiles. "Impressive as always, Doctor. Oh, but you really don't want to do that."

The Dreamlord curls his fingers as if signaling someone to approach. A group of Silents appear in front of the Doctor, who is closing his eyes in concentration. Trying to think of nothing at all.

"Can't really block me out of something you'll forget in two seconds. Found them in the back of your mind. Like you said, greatest hits."

The Doctor opens his eyes, staring at them. His memory floods back. He remembers those strange creatures ripping him out of the TARDIS as he fought to keep Clara safe after his makeshift explosion bounced them into yet another dream. Somehow their existence flooding back into his mind opens the gated memories he tries to repress. The bricks become solid again.

The Silents start collectively hissing. Electricity pulsate from their fingers and the Doctor takes an instinctive step back in his cell.

"I know this is a dream and all," The Dreamlord strides towards the creatures. "But please, don't kill him." His grin grows wider as the Doctor glares in anger. "But do leave a mark."

* * *

Clara waves her hand over the red waterfall and pushes it on impulse. The metal doors slide open quickly, but there is no lift. Only another room flickering on the other side. A dirty, dimly lit facility, a chamber of concrete. She cautiously steps through.

She yelps as chains fall from the ceiling and dangle in front of her. Surveying the room, she sees nothing of real importance. She sighs and wanders around, almost relieved that the Doctor has the ability to dream the relatively mundane.

_Does it look real to you? _

Whispers echo around the room as Clara spins around on her heels, looking for the source.

_Does it seem real?_

She pauses, dropping her hands to her sides as an act of surrender. She's stuck in the room with no light and no way around the whispers that surround her. Clara feels a sharp pain searing through her head, if only for a moment.  
"This isn't real," she whispers back. "Doctor, wake up!"

_It's a dream, Oswin. You dreamed it for yourself because the truth was too terrible. _

"No, I didn't. I'm not the one dreaming this u-" Her voice is caught in her throat. Oswin? Her eyes widen at the name.

Asylum. Where she's standing, it's the asylum. It's a piece of herself, yet she doesn't remember being this version of Clara. She only remembers the look of horror the Doctor would give her when he thought she wasn't looking. When she was still his mystery, his impossible girl who died and died again.

"Doctor, I don't want to see this. Please wake up. Think of something else!" Clara ducks into the shadows, pushing herself against a cold wall. Daleks stalk into the room.

_Because you are a dalek._

As if on cue, the Daleks snap their attention to Clara.

Clara places a hand over her mouth, tears welling up in her eyes. She fights back the tears as they stride closer.

* * *

The Doctor, crumpled on the floor, picks his head up slowly. It's almost as if Clara's muffled cries ring in his ears like the TARDIS alarms had.  
"Leave her alone." He drops his head in exhaustion, if only momentarily, before Clara screams and it echoes into Stormcage.

"I am not a Dalek!" She yells. The Doctor pulls himself up. Daleks. Asylum. He gets the memo.

"Clara," he yells back, his voice hoarse. He tries standing now, using the bars for support. The Dreamlord watches, amused.

"Funny how even in a dream you can still taste the blood in your mouth, isn't it Doctor?" The Dreamlord snaps his fingers and the Silence emit electricity from their palms once more.

The Doctor grabs onto the wall for dear life, never taking his eyes off the projection of Clara still flashing on the brick.

"Doctor, why don't you just wake up?" Clara still echoes into the room.

"I'm trying!" he replies to the projection, knowing full well she can't hear him. As one of the Silence strikes him in the chest with a bolt of electrical energy, he cries out in pain almost in unison with his companion. Through blurry vision, he sees Clara hunched over, her fingers cradling her head.

"Be -" Another shot of electricity strikes him. " Be Brave." Another strike and his eyes roll back into his head.

* * *

Clara slinks back into a corner as the Daleks still approach. She yelps as another twitch of pain hits her mind and she pushes her fingers to her temples.

"Ex-term-inate," the daleks begin to chant, slowly.

"You're dead," she cried, "The Doctor destroyed you in that asylum and I'm still standing."

The Daleks pause, if only for a beat. They swivel as if gathering for a secret meeting amongst themselves. "She survived the crash in the starliner. She is intelligent. Prepare her for full conversion."

_Because you are a Dalek._ The whispers are louder now, repeating themselves and suffocating the air around Clara. With them comes the searing pain.

"I am not a dalek,"she rasps. She's on her knees now, her vision blurring and focusing on the Daleks lined in front of her. The whispers are more pronounced with each syllable. She recognizes the whispers now, the Doctor's sharp voice emanating in her ears. It's dripping with hatred. It's a tone she isn't used to hearing from the soft, kind voice that came before the Scottish inflection.

She hears a painful shout break through the whispers as her vision cuts out completely. "Be Brave."


	4. Chapter 4

An irritating glow forces its way through Clara's eyelids, stirring her to consciousness.

"Hello, again," she groans as she pushes herself up. She's numb, disoriented, and inexplicably in front of the metal doors advertising green anchors and red waterfalls once more.

"Doctor?" She shouts as she stares at the ceiling. No answer. She feels silly, almost as if she's calling up to God. A God that lets friends get turned into Daleks and then chastises them for it. She shakes off her annoyance and tries her luck again. "Doctor? Where are you?"

She flexes her finger onto the Green Anchor this time, and with a ding the doors calls her to a field.

"A graveyard, really? I'm not into this whole Ghost of Christmas Past schtick, Dreamlord!"

The Dreamlord, sitting intently on a tombstone, gives Clara a little wave. "It's not me. It's your Gallifreyan friend controlling the shots, really."

"Where is he?" Her voice drips with annoyance as she strides up toward the bowtied man. "I'm not buying your tricks."

"Preoccupied."

Clara leans against the statue behind her. "With what?"

The Dreamlord hops off of the memorial. "Bleeding."

Inhaling sharply, she curls her fingers into fists. It dawns on her that searching for the Doctor is an act of futility. It takes everything in her power not to leap at the man before her.

"Let me see him," she manages with a strong resolve to stay calm.

"Oh I wouldn't worry about him, you have your own problems."

Pressure falls onto her wrist, a hand of stone now crushing her own. Her wide, horrified eyes quickly fixate on the culprit.

The Dreamlord smirks and pushes his face close to Clara's. "Anyone ever tell you it's rude to lean up against a weeping angel?"

"Word of advice," he walks away as the angel takes further hold of Clara's arm, "you might want to stop blinking."

* * *

The Dreamlord delivers a swift kick to the Doctor's ribs.

"It's so simple," he chimes in as he pulls the timelord up by his lapels and slumps him against the wall. "your memories are so much more fun than having to come up with scenarios myself. You've lived a life!"

The Doctor's breathing is shallow, his eyes screwed shut. But with a damning amount of effort, a small smile forms on his lips.

"What?" The Dreamlord crouches face-to-face and examines the Doctor.

"Your plan," the Doctor replies. He groans and sits himself up with tremendous effort. "Holes in it, everywhere."

"How so?"

He shakes his head, keeping mum.

"How so?" The Dreamlord repeats himself, now pulling the Doctor to his feet.

"Clueless," The Doctor taunts in between painful breaths.

The Dreamlord pulls something from his jacket, the Master's laser screwdriver. If his pain permitted him, The Doctor would laugh. The Dreamlord was starting to look desperate, like a magician shuffling through a poor bag of tricks.

"Making you nervous?" The Doctor questions, putting all his weight into the Dreamlord's grip. The Dreamlord pushes the screwdriver underneath the Doctor's chin and presses the mechanism. Nothing happens.

"Isomorphic controls, useless to us." The Doctor smiles wider. "G-get my memories straight."

The Dreamlord glowers in anger and throws the Doctor against the cell. He begins pacing back and forth as the Doctor supports himself against the cell bars.

The Dreamlord pauses, his smug stature now replaced with red anger. The room begins to change rapidly around them. Spaceships, hangars, planets swish around them like a vortex until settling in on a snowy tundra. The Doctor had pushed all the right buttons.

"This one will do, thanks" The Doctor says. With a gust of energy, he scrambles to his feet and starts dragging himself through the snow.

'_Oodsphere. Doctordonna. Ood sigma._ _Keep it in your head,'_ he chants to himself as he turns toward a cliff face.

"That's quite a big drop." The Dreamlord quips. He's right next to the Doctor now, looking over the edge. "Go for it. But excuse me if I don't join you."

The Doctor moves a foot closer to the end. "I'll finally get rid of you."

"Keep Clara in my care, alone. Sounds like a grand idea. I'll wipe every memory she has of you."

The Timelord says nothing, inching closer to the edge.

The Dreamlord lifts a finger in the air, as if he's had a bright idea. "Better yet! I'm feeling a bit stronger now."

He morphs into a perfect analog of the weary Doctor before him. "I'll make every memory of you a painful mistake."

The Dreamlord looks menancing now with the commanding gait as approaches the Timelord. The Doctor decidedly takes a couple steps back and puts his hands up. "Okay," he surrenders.

"Oh, I don't know Doctor." The Dreamlord remarks. "You said it yourself, my plan has holes."

"Kick you out of the telepathic link, and no more lucky resets for Clara Oswald."

"Please," The Timelord insists, still placing distance between himself and the man before him

"Your pet got a free pass out of a Dalek conversion because you blacked out, the TARDIS telepathic link connecting you together in more ways than one. Do you think that's a _flaw_ in my plan? I think it's rather run. I wonder if she'll feel the pain when you fall off that cliff."

"What if it takes her with me? Snaps her out of the dream?"

The Dreamlord shrugged. "It's a lottery. It's much more fun this way, living like there's nothing to lose. Quite a fun philosophy you've been keeping with lately."

"Knock me out of the link, and you'll have nothing to feed on. You're a psychic manifestation of me, remember?"

The Dreamlord takes this into consideration, tapping his fingers on his thin lips. "It's a risk I'm willing to take. Do you feel it yet, Doctor? Clara's pain?"

The Doctor turns and runs the other way. "Clara!" he howls. "Please, hear me!"

The Dreamlord grabs the Doctor by the back of his coat and swings him around, back toward the edge of the cliff.

"It's been fun," The Dreamlord offers, before pushing the Doctor with all of his strength.

* * *

**Author's Note:** Here's a quick, tiny chapter to tide everyone over. Life's been hectic but I'll try to update soon! Everything will come together and I promise I won't leave you on a cliffhanger (no pun intended) for too long. Thanks for reading!


	5. Chapter 5

Clara's tears drip from her chin and puddle on the claws encasing her left wrist. Her eyes are bloodshot from staring at the Weeping Angel, a caveat she picked up quickly once she felt her wrist snap out of place.

She tries to recall what bone she must've broken. Her Coal Hill kids were studying the bones in the human body for Double Biology, and the little song they used to memorize each bone danced in her head. Thinking about the Doctor and his whereabouts only solidified how helpless she really was in the Dreamlord's scheme, so she dumps it out of her mind and thinks of ulnas and radiuses and how hers must be crushed to bits.

Each time her eyes droop, she feels the grip tighten and she whimpers in pain a little louder. She tries scratching the stone with the Doctor's ring in hopes that it is bejeweled by some strong extraterrestrial crystal, but it only leaves tiny marks across the Angel's knuckle.

She digs in her coat pocket with her free hand, and feels the chalk. After fighting the urge to draw a mustache on the statue, she pulls her arm over to her other pocket and sighs with relief. Vain, control-freak Clara. She pulls out a compact mirror she keeps on her person, in case of emergencies. Not usually the emergencies involving deadly creatures, but when the situation arises...

She settles the compact mirror across the angel's arm that drapes over its eyes. At least she has clearance to close her eyes for a moment and survey the surrounding area, but actually escaping with both arms intact was another problem entirely.

* * *

The Doctor wakes up in a jolt, gasping for air. Dust wraps around him as he stirs from his resting position. A supply closet. Of all the choices the Dreamlord could make with his memories, 21st Century Coal Hill School would not be one of the Doctor's guesses. His head rests neatly on a row of paper towels sitting on a shelf, his boots pushing up against his time machine. He takes in another gulp of air as if he had been holding his breath all day, and pulls his hands toward the wood of the TARDIS. He rubs them against the grain, the rough touch of painted wood tickle his fingers.

"Feels real enough," he mutters as he assesses the Caretaker's closet he familiarized himself with not too long ago.

He quickly presses his fingers to his ears and face, noticing his afflictions the Dreamlord gleefully delivered had disappeared. He scrambles toward the Time Machine, pressing his ear hard against its side. He hears soft humming, the noise settling into his mind.

"No screaming, then."

Did the Dreamlord take his preemptive strike at a primary school? All clues lead toward Coal Hill being an actual environment. The Doctor couldn't really imagine the Dreamlord dealing out torment in a school yard, anyway.

A school bell rings as the Doctor picks himself up to pat the dust off his jacket. If he had fallen asleep in Clara's domain, there was a good chance a sleeping Miss Oswald would be somewhere close by.

"Right then. Time to go find the Teach."

* * *

Clara stretches her neck to see the gravestones behind the statue, secretly hoping the Dreamlord was there to offer a taunt and another clue to get out of the predicament. Anything.

She starts to wobble as she tries to maneuver her body to get a better look at a slick, black gravestone that grabs her attention. "Amelia," she says curiously as the name triggers something in her mind.

The mirror begins to slide down the angel's elbow as Clara pushes herself closer to the tombstone.

* * *

The Doctor stalks the halls of Coal Hill, the various students shuffling around him, used to his presence as sometimes Caretaker and sometimes wanderer of halls. The Doctor spins towards Clara's classroom, only to find it locked with its lights out. The only classroom without its lights emanating into the vast hallway.

He gives an exaggerated sigh and twists his heel towards Danny's Maths class.

Dipping his head in, he sees the teacher wearily drop his briefcase with a clang onto the wooden desk and fold into the chair behind it. His eyes look sunken and his face cast in shadows, lines more prominent on his bone structure.

"Where's Clara?" The Doctor asks, as if the question escaped his mouth without permission. He skips the sarcastic remarks and forced pleasantries he usually speaks on behalf of Clara. Something's not right.

The soldier looks up at the Doctor, his lips thinning into a frown. "You," he replies, almost in a growl. He pushes himself from the chair and walks towards the Doorway. "Tell me."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

Danny goes for the right hook, the Doctor quickly stepping back before his punch could connect.

"What's going on?" The Doctor uses his palms to push the teacher out of his proximity.

"Oh right, you're a _time traveler_." His voice doesn't stop being angry.

"She doesn't just fade out of time then? Do you still have the luxury of seeing her? Of traveling with her and watching her smile?"

"Please, Danny, what is it?"

Danny dips his chin to his chest and gathers the strength to say it, as if he's admitting it to himself. "She's dead."

* * *

Clara thinks about screaming once she feels the glass shards of her broken mirror dance off of her boots, but time does not allow it as the weeping angel quickly snaps a grasp around her neck.

* * *

**Author's Note: **Sooo sorry for the delay, life is hectic! Here's a couple short chapters to tide you over. Don't worry, there's more fun to be had with the Dreamlord yet!


	6. Chapter 6

**Author's Note: **Just added two chapters at once, so go back and read Chapter 5 if you haven't already. Cheers!

* * *

Clara takes her breaths in short gasps as stone fingers press against her pulsating neck.  
_Why am I alive? Why did the angel stop?_ Thoughts thrum in her mind as loudly as the heartbeat that now pounds in her ears.

"Where the hell did that come from?"

Clara would sigh in relief if she had the chance. Someone was out there, staring at the angel and holding her life by a thread.

She pivots her head as much as she can, hoping to communicate with her savior. Instead, her eyes widen in fear as she spots another weeping angel within arm's reach of her. Thankfully, it remains immobile.

"It's a survivor. Very weak, but keep your eyes on it."  
Another voice now,_ his voice_. The kinder, gentler voice she heard back in the Dreamlord's version of the asylum. Or in the depths of The Doctor's memories. She wasn't quite sure what she believed now.

"I'm trying," Clara gasps as she fixes her eyes on the statue beside her.

A flare of red hair whips in her face as a girl about her age steps toward the adjacent angel. "Where's Rory?" she calls back to the Doctor, tears swelling in her eyes.

"I'm sorry, Amelia." It's all the Doctor offers.

Clara jerks her head toward the slim gravestone she spied earlier. Amelia. _Oh no._

Clara turns again to study the girl. Amelia, whose shoes she must have filled. Whose space she must have inherited in the TARDIS. Amy's broken expression tells Clara everything she's about to do.

"Please don't," Clara cries as she tries to reach for the redhead. "Doctor," Clara states, trying her damnest to raise her voice against the strain of the angel's grasp. "Don't let her do it. Save her!"

She expects to see the Doctor leap forward and pull his friend to safety. Save Amy, like he has saved Clara countless times without thought. But he doesn't move forward. She doesn't hear anything from the Timelord when Amy steps into the angel's grasp and disappears forever.

Her head is spinning, but she doesn't have time to react. If the Doctor let Amy's life fall through the cracks so easily, she was certain that she didn't have much time before he returned to his TARDIS and flew away from this memory, leaving her exposed to the two angels.

Not wanting to succumb to the unconsciousness that was creeping into her vision, she acts on impulse. To follow the footsteps of her predecessor. Follow the redheaded girl to her death. The Doctor wasn't going to come to save her in any incarnation, even if she was in _his_ mind, _his_ memories. She lifts her foot, careful to not put more weight into her neck, and pushes it against the weeping angel beside her to disappear without a trace.


End file.
